


Life for Synthetic Life

by NervousAsexual



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Coercion, Hostage Situations, Hurt No Comfort, Manhandling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: He always knew his bleeding heart would get him killed someday.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960987
Kudos: 9
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Life for Synthetic Life

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober promt #3--manhandled/forced to their knees

He could have made it out.

He comes back to it again and again. Anyone else in his position would have plowed right through the ghouls he found in the Boston Airport. Would've been grateful, even. All those ferals would if nothing else delay the Brotherhood and give him enough time to disappear. Would it have been morally wrong? They weren't sentient. They would have attacked him without any thought.

But he didn't make it out, because even as someone without flesh and blood Nick Valentine's biggest weakness is his bleeding heart.

The knights are all over him now, shoving him down into the sand on the beach and ripping the gun from his hand, pulling his arm back so hard that with the force of the power armor behind it he feels the joints in his shoulder give. It burns. It matches the plasma burns on his throat and chest.

He could have made it.

Something comes down on his right knee, so heavy that it gives too and he has to grit his teeth to stay silent. He closes his eyes and he can see the look on the face of that Brotherhood initiate as he turned, the box of supplies in his hands, the dozens--hundreds, maybe--of ferals on the other side of the wall, and he tells himself that if he hadn't turned around the knights would have followed and they would have slaughtered all those ghouls, all those _people_ , and they would have killed that initiate. He knows that now, that they won't spare each other when the chips are down.

Something strikes the sand by his face and he opens his eyes to see the knee of a suit of power armor. He tries to look up as well as he can with the hands holding his head down but all he can see is the silhouette of a knight against the sun going down across the water.

"Where will she take him?" the knight shouts, but that's the beauty of it. He has no idea. Nora and Danse could be anywhere by now and he has no way of knowing. "Answer me, synth!"

"Call a vertibird. We'll get him to Neriah. We'll find out."

He draws in a breath to calm himself and as he exhales a sharp weight comes down on his back and he feels something crack inside him and he moans as his entire body flares in pain, just before the world goes dark.

He's on his knees, leaned against a wall, but he doesn't know how he's upright. He can feel coolant pooling low inside him and his head is too heavy to lift. The arm they didn't break is limp at his side. A brief, unnecessary diagnostic tells him the pain in his shoulder is disconnected wires and that he can't fix this by himself.

He opens his eyes to harsh white lights that fill his vision with static, but after an agonizing moment he can make out movement around him. Too well-drilled to be anything less than Brotherhood. There's a hand on the back of his head, trying to push forward and expose his neck, but he fights it.

"Are you kidding me?" The voice is near his left ear, strictly professional, not angered the way the knights were before. "'Oh, it's powered down, Neriah.' That's what I get for expecting competence. If you want something done..."

The hand is removed and in moments is replaced by something sharp and cold. He tries to pull away but there's nowhere to go.

"Can I get a paladin in here?" the voice asks loudly. "You know, before this thing decides to self-destruct?"

"Look sharp," another voice warns from farther away. "Here comes Maxson."

He can hear the footsteps approaching, heavy and precise like all this is preordained, and he raises his head just enough to make out the room he's in--cold steel, clinical, empty of furniture as far as he can see--and the tall, dark-haired man who enters. He'd know that ugly leather coat anywhere.

"Maxson," he says. "Can't say I'm impressed with your sense of hospitality."

Maxson ignores him. "This one was hers?"

The sharp thing at his neck disappears and he sags in relief. Someone at his shoulder stands.

"Definitely. It's unique for a second generation synth. I've seen her bring it aboard several times."

Maxson comes to crouch in front of him, his cold blue eyes looking over every crack and tear in Nick's face. "It's difficult to believe this thing can believe it's human."

More human than you, Nick wants to say, but he says nothing.

"Ask it where to find the Institute."

"Ask me yourself," Nick says. "And I don't have any more idea than you do. Got a few questions I'd like to ask if you find 'em, though."

Maxson turns away and stands, but not before Nick catches the quick roll of his eyes.

"It could be lying," the voice beside him says. "Let me get it wired to a terminal and we can find out."

"Later, Neriah. For now just ask it about the knight and the synth."

"Where is the knight taking the synth?"

Neriah comes around in front of him--she's smaller than he expected from the force she used on him, dark hair, bored eyes. He remembers seeing her autopsying super mutants when he came about the Prydwyn with Nora. "If you're asking where Nora's taking Danse, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Where..." She speaks slowly, like she's talking to an especially challenged super mutant. "Is... the... knight?"

"I... don't... know." They got away, obviously, which is the important thing. They don't deserve what the Brotherhood will do to them, not even Danse.

Part of him wants to tell them that, but the broken limbs and cracked internal parts outweigh that want.

Maxson comes back to him and takes him roughly by the chin, jerking him up to look at him.

"She's got a particular attachment to this one, doesn't she?" he asks. "Get me a radio."

In his peripheral vision Neriah nods and leaves the room. Despite the fear still circling inside him his neck goes weak. Whatever she was doing to him before isn't going to happen.

Maxson looks him over, still holding him tightly. Nick tries to hold himself still--he can be as cold and aloof as this kid--but his body keeps betraying him. His internal fans are running hard to make up for the leaking coolant. He can't hold himself upright and stop his battered body from trembling simultaneously. Something is broken inside, something more than a busted coolant tube.

"Is your loyalty to her?" Maxson asks at last. "Or is she a means to an end?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

The hand on his chin tightens. "Don't lie to me, synth. Does she work for the Institute, or have you twisted a perfectly good soldier into an unwitting lackey?"

Nick grits his teeth. He could push himself up against the wall; his unbroken leg may still work. There's nothing else he can do, except maybe smash his skull into Maxson's mouth. They'll just break his other leg but it sounds satisfying.

"It's quite a coincidence that she suddenly abandons the Brotherhood when it's most convenient for the Institute."

"Maybe..." He groans as the hand yanks suddenly, almost pulling him up from the floor with the tear in his face bearing most of the weight. "...maybe you oughta look at your own morals on that one."

Maxson laughs and lets him go. He hits the floor hard enough that it jostles something inside of him, sends a stabbing ache through him, and he curls over the pain. "A machine is going to lecture me on morality. I like that."

Footsteps approach and he glances up to see Neriah coming back, a ham radio in her arms. She sets it down against the wall behind Maxson and starts wiring things together.

"Make it quick," Maxson tells her. "I want this thing out of my sight ASAP."

"You want me to leave?" Nick asks, forcing himself up against the wall until he's kneeling again. "I'll leave. Walk right out that door if you..."

He is interrupted by a sudden pain in his chest that pulls a cry out of him before he knows what's happening. He looks down at Maxson's hand and at the combat knife in his hand and at how deep it's buried in the part of his chest below his throat, where the plasma rifle did the most damage. Maxson twists the knife and though he tries to stop it he makes a noise that's almost a sob.

"You'll speak when you're spoken to, synth." Maxson yanks the knife back out, so hard that he can barely keep himself upright. He leans hard against the wall, gasping for breath. "Senior Scribe?"

"One moment..." Neriah flips a switch on the radio and it lights up. "Bingo. Ready to broadcast on all frequencies, sir."

"Good." Maxson takes the microphone she hands him and turns back to Nick. Nick just looks right back. He's not gonna let these thugs think they've got him cowed. "Are we live?"

Neriah nods.

Without breaking eye contact Maxson raises the mic and holds down the PTT switch. "This is Brotherhood of Steel Elder Arthur Maxson with a message for a pair of deserters who think they can run from justice. Know this: for the rest of your extremely short life you will not know peace. Wherever you run, the Brotherhood will find you, and we will not show mercy. If you had any honor at all you would turn yourselves in."

He's losing coolant faster than before. It's hard to keep his eyes on Maxson's.

"I will make you a single offer. Nora, return to Boston Airport and you will not be fired upon. Bring the synth. Alive or dead, I leave that to your discretion, but come prepared to talk."

If he weren't a machine he'd be in tears, or in a panic, or unconscious. There's a tightness in his chest, above and around the knife wound, and he chews the inside of his cheek to keep from sobbing. His entire body is heavy.

"I'm sure you laugh to hear that. You 'escaped,' allegedly, so why return? A fair question, but I have something here that I believe you will want. A machine that seems to have fooled itself into believing it is human. If you turn yourself in, I will let your little pet synth go. If not... well, I'm sure there's much to be gained in taking it apart piece by piece."

No.

With a sudden burst of strength he raises his head again and glares up at Maxson. Not like this.

Maxson squats down beside him and holds the microphone near his face.

"Go on," he says. "Speak to her."

He's dizzy. He's tired. He wants to cry but he's not going to let them get that much out of him. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and tries not to let his voice shake. "Nora?" Maxson gives him a single, almost imperceptible nod. "This is Nick. Don't you dare come back for me. It ain't worth this." Maxson presses short, thick fingers into the knife wound on his chest and it's all he can do not to sob. "You did the right thing, running. I... I'm proud of you. None of this is your fault. Nora, I-I love you, kid."

A look of disgust crosses Maxson's face and with his bare hand he tears the wound even wider. The wail is out of Nick's throat before he can stop it.

"There are your terms." Maxson stands, his fist tight on the microphone. "Don't say the Brotherhood never offered you a choice." He gives Neriah back the mic and walks away without a backwards glance. "Get that thing out of here."

He keeps his head up and his eyes on the radio until it goes dark. Only then does he let himself cry, loud, ugly sobs at the pain and the fear and the injustice of it all. He cries until his strength has been so completely drained that he sinks down against the wall and knows nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> [continues here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913649)


End file.
